


There's always Something

by whirlingdervish



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22819435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whirlingdervish/pseuds/whirlingdervish
Summary: A year after Mary's passing Sherlock deduces that John has a date.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 216





	There's always Something

It was perhaps a bit early in the year to keep the fireplace lit in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street, but Sherlock liked the warmth and comforting glow. Though the first real frost had yet to creep across the window panes, the temperatures began to steadily drop as October progressed. The sky was already settling into an inky pall when he heard John’s footsteps on the stairs; lighter than normal- no Rosie then. A familiar and altogether uncomfortable tightness settled in Sherlock’s stomach. Date night.

John and Rosie had been living back at 221B for several months, happily it seemed. They had fallen back into an easy routine as though setting the needle back on the record, as though the last several years had never happened. But of course Sherlock had to expect that John would start dating again. A year had passed since Mary’s death – they had marked the occasion by resolutely not talking about it. But when Sherlock had ventured out in the afternoon to visit her resting place, there were lilies, so he knew John had been there earlier. How often had John lamented Rosie’s lack of a mother? The thought of sabotaging John’s dates, as he had years ago, was out of the question. Not if it meant that Rosie got what she needed.

When John walked in there was no mistaking it- it was indeed a date night. His shirt was new. That was distressing.

“Hey Sherlock,” John said setting his brief case down beside his chair. 

“Where's Rosie?” Sherlock asked, his brow creased with concern.

“Uh, at Molly's,” John admitted, rocking back on his heels. “I’ve got a date tonight. Well, I hope I do anyway- I haven’t asked yet.”

“Oh.” Sherlock answered, feeling like he’d had the wind knocked out of him, even though he had been expecting it. It stung a little that John didn’t trust him watching Rosie, he had done it before- and had hoped that if he’d be left home without John at least he’d have his other favorite Watson with him to keep him company. “I have nothing on, I could have watched her.”

“Molly insisted,” John replied. The two flat mates regarded each other for a moment before John shrugged, “Well?”

“Well what?” Sherlock grouched.

“Aren’t you going to deduce my date?” John asked.

“You hate when I do that,” Sherlock replied, breezing past john into the kitchen, flicking the switch on the kettle. He wished John would just go already- let Sherlock sulk in peace. It was all terribly predictable, but that somehow never made it easier to bear.

“It never stopped you before,” John pressed with a small laugh and followed Sherlock at a distance. He leaned against the wall and watched Sherlock busy himself making a cup of tea.

“I’m not interested in your date, John.” Sherlock said matter-of-factly plonking the container that held the tea onto the counter with more force than was necessary.

“Come on, Sherlock,” John said, “You can tell if it’s going to be a disaster just by a glance. I could use your help.”

Sherlock rounded on him quickly, taking it all in with his laser-like intensity. John chewed on his bottom lip as Sherlock’s eyes scanned for all the information he’d need.

“You’re terrified,” Sherlock said plainly, hardly taking a moment to breathe before launching into his deductions. “Could be because this is the first date you’ve attempted since Mary died, more likely because the stakes are higher than you’re used to. You’ve been to the gym three times this week and after work today, which explains why you were so late coming home. You changed your clothes there, obviously you’re eager to go- don’t let me keep you.”

“You’re not keeping me,” John muttered, “What else?” he pressed.

“That’s a new shirt and you’re wearing cologne- so you’re keen to impress. You’ve put thought into it so you’ve probably had your eye on the woman for a while, that with the nervousness indicates sentiment- you’re looking for more than a leg over. You want a relationship. You spend most of your nights after work at home with Rosie and I or on cases so it’s likely that you met this person at work.”

John watched Sherlock rattle off deductions with an expression teetering on the edge of amusement.

“The fact that you’ve had Molly take Rosie means you’re hoping to be out late, possibly even overnight- so you’re terrified, but optimistic- interesting. Your optimism suggests that you’ve felt a strong connection to her, maybe the chemistry was good- maybe she’s a sure thing-”

“Sherlock,” John cuts in with a warning tone.

“Either way, she’s more than likely a complete idiot- especially if she turns you down.”

“Sherlock,” John says again, softer- resigned. Sherlock feels a stab of regret. He’s disappointed him- again.

“See? I told you that you hate when I deduce your dates.” Sherlock argued dejectedly as the kettle whistled. He turned away from John’s sad stare to deal with the tea. Tea was a formula that was easy to get right- the variables effortlessly controlled. The process was grounding- something for him to focus on and do that didn’t require examining the nature of unrequited love for a moment. Out of habit Sherlock poured two mugs of tea. John silently slipped into his chair at the kitchen table, the one just next to Rosie’s high chair. “Well?” Sherlock broke the silence, “was I right?”

“Yes, God, that was amazing as usual,” John said, huffing a sigh and running a hand through his hair. “You got almost everything. I mean the shirt was obvious, yeah?”

Sherlock shrugged and sat down opposite John and stared at his tea sullenly.

“And I am terrified, Sherlock, because … sentiment. I’m taking a huge risk here because I could have it all wrong and if I do- well, it would destroy me.”

Sherlock felt ill, John was in love- again. He had hoped he hadn’t been right about that. How many times could Sherlock survive this?

“But you’ve missed something.” John adds.

“Have I?”

“Yeah, well, there’s always something,” John smirked behind the brim of his mug as he took a tentative sip of tea.

There was nothing Sherlock hated more than ‘not knowing’ and it seemed that John was enjoying his confusion more than usual.

“What is it? What have I missed?”

John took a breath and held it for a beat before shaking his head and sighing.

“It’s… you.”

Sherlock blinked rapidly, just as he had when John asked him to be his best man. Usually his brain was cacophony of sounds and thoughts- a mass transit hub, but now it was just the hum of white noise. He was glad he was sitting down because he had the strangest sensation of floating, like the ground had given way. John’s brow creased but he waited patiently.

“Take your time,” John said and took another sip of tea. Sherlock couldn’t look at him directly, but noticed how his leg began to bounce and how John’s hand uncurled and curled into a fist.

Seconds slogged by like minutes as Sherlock desperately tried to piece together the fragments of his thoughts. He felt reality slipping under him like shifting sand. On the one hand he knew he should say something quickly, put John’s mind at ease, but he did not know how to form words any more.

“Sherlock,” John gently prompted, his voice sounded a million miles away, “Come back to me.”

He somehow managed to look at John across the table.

“Did I get it wrong?” John asked quietly.

Sherlock shook his head, no. John sighed with relief.

“Dinner?”

Sherlock smiled, his face felt like cracking plaster.

“Starving,” he answered.


End file.
